


Running Moments

by superagentwolf



Series: A Spell or Two [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dying Stiles, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Pre-Slash, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles deals with nosebleeds and the brief reappearance (in his experience) of Kate Argent; things do not go as planned and Stiles has to bear the consequences while confronting the Hales about Malia. There are misconceptions about Stiles' motivations for traveling back in time and he aims to set the pack straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poisoned Silver

Stiles leans against the wall, the scent of blood heavy in his nose.

_I knew it wouldn’t last._

He knew but that hadn’t stopped him from hoping. He lifts a shaking hand to his face, wiping away the hot blood, coughing.

“Stiles!” Derek’s voice is insistent. Stiles blinks, rainwater dripping down his soaking hair. It’s longer now and the edges are plastered to his forehead.

“ _Quiet_ ,” Stiles manages hoarsely, and he spits blood onto the pavement. Derek crouches behind a nearby crate, eyes wide and trained on Stiles.

Kate is somewhere out there, gun in hand.

Stiles remembers when she arrived in town. How she’d done the _same damn thing._ Gone after Derek but this time failed. Allison hadn’t talked to her parents yet but she’d _had_ to, confronting them about being hunters. Chris had taken it well, just as Stiles had expected. Victoria, not so much.

Kate had been angry. She’s tried to tell Allison that the werewolves were the enemy, manipulative and monstrous. Allison had been around the pack enough to know she was lying.

In the end Victoria had locked her daughter in her room and set Kate out to get rid of the Hales. It didn’t matter that Laura had long since been communicating with Chris in an attempt to create a peace like the one they’d enjoyed so many years ago with Talia and the whole family.

So here they were. Kate was chasing Derek down with a gun and Stiles was trying to help because he’d _known_.

Except there was something wrong with Stiles. He wasn’t recovering right. Something about the spell he’d used to skip time was destroying him from the inside out.

“Come on, Derek. It’s not that bad. Think about it- you die and you get to see your precious family again.”

Kate’s voice. The same as always, cunning and sharp like a knife in the back. Stiles looks over at Derek, determined. Derek tries to stop him, mouth opening, but Stiles ignores him and steps out into the light.

They’re in an empty warehouse. Kate tilts her head, eyes narrowed as she studies Stiles.

“You’re not a werewolf,” she says, amused.

“No, I’m not. You can’t shoot me,” Stiles says calmly, and Kate raises an eyebrow.

“Looks like I don’t have to, honey. That’s a nasty nosebleed you’ve got there.”

“Yeah. Side effects of time travel,” Stiles shoots back, unafraid. Kate walks slowly to circle him, examining Stiles like a piece of meat.

“Huh. Your standards are dropping, Derek.” Kate says, voice raising as she glances about the warehouse. “But I guess he’s an easy fuck.”

Stiles chokes on his spit, laughing incredulously.

“Are you _kidding_? Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles manages, eyes tearing up as he laughs. Kate frowns at him, gaze sharp.

“Don’t fuck with me, sweetheart. I’m willing to bet that Derek will come out if I shoot you.”

“Mmm. Maybe. Probably because shooting a _human_ is not in the hunter job description. And he’s just that big of a bleeding heart.”

Kate smirks, training her gun on Stiles. He doesn’t worry about it.

“Interesting. So what’s your play, kid? Make me stand down just because you’re human?”

“No, no. I’m going to warn you once and then I’m going to _fuck you up_ ,” Stiles finishes, letting his anger boil into a dangerous smile. He remembers clearly the way the nogitsune controlled him when he was twisting the sword in Scott and he channels every bit of that storm as he can.

“Really, now. And what are _you_ going to do about it, all by your lonesome, with only a cowardly werewolf to help you?”

Kate’s fake pity is enough to send Stiles running at her but he restrains himself, glancing over her shoulder at the blue eyes shining out from the dark.

“Well, you know, that’s where you’re wrong. Can you count? Because I count _four_ Hales in the house.”

Stiles almost laughs at the way Kate’s eyes widen in rage and disbelief. Peter emerges from the shadows behind her, teeth sharp and eyes glowing menacingly. Laura is on Kate’s left, eyes blazing, and Cora stand on Kate’s right with an equally intense gaze. Derek slowly steps out of his hiding place behind Stiles, shoulders set.

“You should all be _dead_ ,” Kate hisses, and Stiles tries not to sneer at her.

“Well, maybe you should learn how to _hunt_ ,” Stiles says sarcastically, twirling the dagger Allison had gifted him as a birthday present.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kate finally says, adjusting her grip and lifting her gun. “I can finish this now. Besides, they won’t hurt me if I shoot you. They’ll be too busy trying to save your pitiful life.”

“Well, that’s one way to look at the glass,” Stiles says, bored. He lifts his hand from his pocket, waving his phone. “You’re on speakerphone. Say hello to your family for me?”

Kate’s eyes widen in rage and she steps forward, ignoring the warning snarls from the Hales.

“You little shit,” Kate breathes, and Stiles wrinkles his nose.

“That’s _so_ not original. Look, how about you give up now? This is obviously _not_ self-defense and it’s _definitely_ against your Code. Just let go, Kate. Give up. Do you honestly hate werewolves so much that you’re willing to give up your _family_ for it?”

“My family understands what I do,” Kate claims and Stiles wants to sigh for the fiftieth time in barely five minutes.

“Um, no. Have you _talked_ to Allison? Do you even understand? Not all monsters are monstrous, Kate. Just because they _can_ do something doesn’t mean they _will_. Unlike you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kate hisses, and Stiles has suddenly had enough.

“No, I think _you_ don’t know,” Stiles snarls, and he steps forward despite Peter’s warning gaze.

“I did _not_ time-travel fucking four years _just_ so I could deal with your bitch ass _again_. You’re a sad piece of shit, Kate. I don’t know what makes you think you can get off trying to murder an entire _family_ that hasn’t done a _thing_ to you. And for what? You didn’t even succeed. Why the _fuck_ are you still trying? Just _let it go_!”

A shot echoes off the metal walls.

 

* * *

 

Stiles comes to about five minutes after the noise. He feels something sticky in his mouth and groans when he swallows, tasting the blood.

“Stiles, stay awake,” Peter commands, and Stiles looks up to see the man glancing back from the front seat. _We’re in a car?_

Stiles realizes he’s lying on Derek’s lap. And Cora’s and Laura’s.

“Whoa, guys- what’s-,” Stiles stops, coughing painfully.

There’s more blood and Derek curses.

“ _Peter,_ ” Derek hisses, and Stiles tries to move, stars blinding his vision when the movement makes his chest burn. He _knows_ something’s wrong and he starts to panic, months of fighting supernatural creatures doing nothing to stop his body’s reaction to the pain.

“Stiles,” Laura says warningly, and Stiles ignores her, lifting his head to look down at his prone body.

There’s a pool of blood seeping into his already _very_ saturated shirt. The pale blue fabric is burned and torn around the entry of a bullet that shot its way through his chest, right by his heart.

_His heart._

“Der-,” Stiles can’t finish, won’t finish because there’s hot liquid in his throat and when he coughs he feels the splatter against his lips and the copper on his tongue. _No. NO._

“Stiles! Stiles, stay-,”

It’s the last thing Stiles hears Derek say.

 

* * *

 

The familiar sound of a heart rate monitor echoes in Stiles’ ear. It’s familiar and haunting and he remembers the last time he was in a hospital.

“He’s awake,” a relieved voice says. Stiles hasn’t opened his eyes, his head hurts too much, but he twists his face away from an unknown source of light that burns brightly.

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

It’s his dad’s voice. Stiles tries to speak but his throat is raw so he swallows, brow furrowed when the faraway pain he feels starts to get closer.

“Mmmn. Golden,” Stiles says, and even his attempt at sarcasm sounds beaten-down and used.

When he opens his eyes Stiles sees Scott standing nearby with an expression almost as relieved as Stiles’ dad.

“Kate?” Stiles asks quietly, and the look of utter _hate_ on Scott’s face is so incongruous and startling that Stiles would’ve probably backed up a step if he’d been standing. Scott really _hating_ someone is like…like a freaking puppy attacking a duck wandering onto its yard. It’s bizarre.

“The Argents have her. It took Laura and Cora to keep Peter in line- Boyd, Erica, and Isaac had to keep Derek from ripping Kate’s throat out.”

“Are they okay?” Stiles asked immediately, trying with little success to lever himself into a sitting position.

“Whoa. Hey. You need to be worried about _yourself_ ,” Stiles’ dad says angrily as he pushes Stiles back onto his pillows.

“Dad. They’re-,”

“Pack? You’re _human_ , Stiles!”

Stiles blinks. His lungs are empty, his world frozen. Scott looks disbelieving and almost angry.

“Just- do me a favor, start taking care of _yourself_.”

 

* * *

 

The pack trickles in in the few hours after Stiles wakes. They’re all in varying degrees of relief and anger, viciously swearing to kill Kate or _any_ hunter the next time they try to come anywhere near Stiles. It’s flattering, really.

Peter is strangely the only person Stiles wants to stay around him for an extended amount of time. It’s not like the pack isn’t great but Erica looks insanely guilty all the time, Isaac looks like he’s kicked a puppy, and even _Boyd_ seems silently ashamed. Even after Stiles’ repeated assurances they still seem to think it’s their fault Stiles was shot.

Scott starts getting a little overbearing and Stiles has to remind him that Allison probably needs more support than him right now, considering Kate and everything. Jackson is being _extremely_ strange in a bodyguard-like way, largely refusing to leave the hospital as he sits with Lydia and glares at the nurses. Stiles has to resort to using Laura’s help to get them to leave.

Derek- well, he’s Derek. He doesn’t stop by but Stiles can always tell he’s been there, the lingering presence of the man remaining when Stiles wakes up. He’s always gone before Stiles is lucid.

“You know, this isn’t half bad,” Peter drawls as he spoons green jell-o into his mouth. Stiles snorts.

“Dude, hospital jell-o is like crack. I’m actually not one hundred percent sure it _doesn’t_ have crack in it. When I used to make it the powder was always kept in these weird plastic containers. Maybe it _is_ spiked,” Stiles rambles.

Peter snorts, gnawing on his plastic spoon a little. Stiles grins, the sudden image of an Alsatian puppy playing with a toy popping into his head.

“You’ll be out tomorrow, then,” Peter says, and _of course_ the Creeper Wolf knows his schedule.

“Yeah. Then it’s off to Deaton’s for my secondary checkup,” Stiles jokes, but Peter’s eyes darken and the man tenses almost imperceptibly.

“What has he said?”

“Nothing,” Stiles says mildly, and it’s the truth.

Deaton hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t know what’s going on with Stiles and that’s the scariest thing Stiles has faced so far. Peter seems to recognize this, though, and he frowns fiercely as he throws his trash away.

“Stiles-,”

“Peter. It’s- look, I knew the risks.”

“I know you did,” Peter says icily, and he seems to realize his tone is too harsh as he sighs, rubbing his eyes with tired hands.

“You don’t really know me,” Stiles says quietly, and Peter looks up sharply. “I know I told you almost everything, Peter- but that doesn’t mean you know. You weren’t there.”

“Stiles,” Peter says softly, and he rises in one smooth movement. “I know you feel like everything’s your fault. From what you’ve told me, though- it’s not. It never was. I would have been revenge-bent and looking for betas even if Scott hadn’t been in the woods. It might have been some other kid, some other ill-equipped teenager _without_ a friend like you.”

“Yeah, some friend,” Stiles choked, and he can’t believe the tears burning his eyes. “He was bitten without consent and it changed his _life_ -,”

“For the better,” Peter cut Stiles off. “He was an asthmatic teenager with hopes of being a lacrosse star and having a pretty girlfriend. Do you honestly think Scott would’ve grown as much as he had _without_ the bite?”

Stiles doesn’t answer. It’s hard enough for him to keep his timelines separate without trying to guess at what could’ve been. Sometimes he goes to school and sees Allison and still can’t believe she’s alive.

“Who knows,” Stiles says quietly, and he suddenly feels older than he knows he is.

Because his body may physically be eighteen but in his mind he’s lived two lifetimes as a teenager.

Peter seems to sense Stiles’ exhaustion because he walks over, firm hands surprisingly gentle as they smooth over the mess Stiles’ hair has become this past year.

“Sleep.”

It’s the closest Stiles has ever felt to Peter and he smiles, drowsiness suddenly enveloping his aching limbs. There’s something in Peter’s eyes- understanding, sorrow maybe- that makes Stiles feel like he’s safe.

It doesn’t matter what’s happening to him, why his nose is always bleeding, why he sometimes passes out at home while doing simple tasks. Right now, there’s Peter and the soft light from the hospital window.

Right now, all Stiles wants to do is rest.

 

* * *

 

The day Stiles gets out of the hospital he takes an armful of Peter and a pain medication prescription he’ll never fill.

It’s at the moment he’s checking out that Derek shows up.

Derek makes a noise of surprise when he sees Stiles up and walking. Peter smoothly guides Stiles around to face Derek and Stiles has the sneaking suspicion that everything is an elaborate setup a la Creeper Wolf.

“You’re-,”

“Not dead,” Stiles says bluntly, shrugging as if it means nothing. The angry part of him takes pleasure in the way that Derek flinches as if he’s been reprimanded.

“I’m going to get your prescription,” Peter says evenly, talking to Stiles as if his nephew doesn’t exist. Stiles blinks, glancing up at the smirking man with accusing eyes.

The silence that ensues between Stiles and Derek is near insufferable. It’s a good thing Stiles has practice with Derek’s silence. Stiles just waits the man out, leisurely signing his release forms with scarred hand that’s still adorned with band-aids.

“So you’re…feeling better,” Derek forces out, and he winces as Stiles watches him.

It’s a good thing he actually _acknowledges_ his sentence is not really the question it should be. Stiles remembers a Derek that wouldn’t even have said anything, much less admit that what he said was not up to par.

“Yeah,” Stiles draws the word out as if he’s not really paying attention to Derek.

Derek is painfully quiet and Stiles wants to slap the man. There is _so much_ he could be saying. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s his own failure or Derek’s deep-rooted insecurity that causes the man to be almost exactly as walled-off as he was in another time.

“Look. I-,”

“Don’t worry; I know you have the emotional range of a teaspoon,” Stiles interrupts, spilling the line with the practiced ease of one that doesn’t trust their own traitorous mouth or words. “I’m not expecting flowers.”

When Derek’s shoulders hunch Stiles feels a punch to the gut as he remembers the same posture in a different setting. _Dust. Ruins. The scent of blood on the sand._

Derek looks up, confused and worried, and Stiles forces his heart to stop its erratic beating. His breath comes evenly and he slides the papers over the counter to the nurse on the phone. She smiles briefly and Stiles turns, heading for the front doors.

He keeps telling himself that changing Derek isn’t why he came back- so why does he feel so disappointed?


	2. Blood is Thicker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The after-effects of the spell are getting worse. Stiles decides it's time for some discussions to take place but it's hard to discuss death when you're the one dying.

Stiles sits the Hales down and has the conversation he’d meant to have before Kate showed up.

It’s something he’d never been sure about- in another time, Malia had said she’d wanted to stay a coyote. Stiles was never really sure whether they’d forced her into staying human or if she’d been lying. Either way it wasn’t his place to keep the information from Peter.

It’s obviously a lot to dump on them at once but Stiles prides the fact that they trust his decision without question. It’s not something Stiles is used to, being trusted like this. Of course Derek pulls faces the whole time, but he’s not expecting anything to change on _that_ front.

Peter acts like Stiles has ascended from the role of ‘equal’ to ‘protector’. Stiles isn’t sure what the Creeper math on that one is but he can’t deny that it’s nice to have _someone_ look at him like he’s done the right thing or at least some variant of it.

“Thank you,” Peter says quietly when he walks Stiles to his jeep.

“Why? I kept it from you,” Stiles points out, and just saying it makes him feel miserable.

“Stiles, you did what you thought was best. You’ve been through this,” Peter points out, and the concern in his eyes is just as real as the other Peter’s rage.

“And look how well that turned out. You’re her _father_ ,” Stiles objects.

Peter watches Stiles with something like exasperation and fondness. It’s kind of like the looks his father would give him when he was younger but with more admiration mixed in.

“Stiles. You’re not the one who took the memory from me but you _protected_ it. You _protected_ my _daughter_.”

When he says it that way it sounds so different.

 

* * *

 

Stiles doesn’t know for sure why Tate isn’t alive in this time.

It could be anything, according to Deaton. A sixth-degree-of-separation thing where a little interaction never happened. None of it matters now, though, because the Hales are in the process of helping Malia transition into a more ‘human’ life.

It’s a relief to Stiles when Malia is just like he remembers, blunt and honest and skeptical about everything. He might have loved her again if it weren’t for everything he’d been through.

As it is Malia seems to regard Stiles with some sort of guarded fascination, as if _he_ is the werecoyote and she the average human. The time travel seems to have some part in it, Stiles guesses, but she’s not concerned with history so much that the fact puts her on edge. Instead, Malia seems to react to Stiles as she sees him through Peter. Or something.

Stiles isn’t sure _what_ Peter’s been telling Malia but he’s never seen her regard him with such esteem before. She was always aware that he was ‘smart’ in her eyes, but now there is an ounce of detachment to her admiration.

“Your nose is bleeding,” Malia says one day at a pack meeting.

Stiles had been hoping to sneak off but it looks like he’ll have to deal with the pack now. He silently curses Peter at least for probably not telling her to hold back on pointing out his physical condition.

“Oh, this? No big,” Stiles waves his hand, holding a finger to his nose. “I probably blew my nose too hard when I was trying to get rid of the smell of Jackson’s sweat.”

Jackson shoots Stiles a glare and a biting remark but they’re only halfhearted because Stiles can see the barely hidden fear in Jackson’s eyes. It’s the fear Stiles has seen in everyone’s eyes. The fear that was in Derek’s face when Stiles passed out after being shot.

The blood is still coming, though, and Malia frowns deeply, glancing at Peter before tensing in her seat.

“You’re…,” she trails off, glancing at Laura with a confused expression before she registers the pain and worry in the pack’s faces.

“A smartass? Yeah. It’s a good thing Peter’s old and can’t keep up or we’d totally sass the pack to death.”

“I’m perfectly vigorous,” Peter says silkily, but his smirk never reaches his eyes.

Stiles shakes his head, snorting, but he stops when dizziness begins to fog his vision. The snort brings blood up his throat and he starts to panic.

Derek starts and Stiles tries to ignore him, attempting to get up and go take care of his nose, but then the world spins and he coughs blood and the overwhelming scent of _copper_ fills everything up and then his vision goes black.

 

* * *

 

Stiles wakes to the pleasurable sensation of floating on a cushiony cloud. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s spread on a pile of blankets and pillows that immerse him in buzzing warmth.

“He’s awake,” Jackson says from nearby, and Stiles is reminded of a time not even a week ago when he heard the exact same words.

It’s the universe’s idea of humor that Stiles feels almost just as sore and used as he did after being shot.

“Hey. How are you doing?” Peter asks quietly, and Stiles blinks, glad for the man’s perceptiveness.

“Perfect. My plan to get out of the pack meeting worked,” Stiles jokes, but the dull smell of blood in his nose is heavy against the light of day.

“Always so dramatic,” Erica jokes from nearby, and Stiles smiles as he searches with his hand for her. He pretends not to notice when her grip is almost painfully tight.

“Has anybody started dinner?” Stiles asks out of habit, because he’s usually the one to pop in his premade dishes. Peter rolls his eyes at the question but Isaac snorts from next to Erica and Boyd.

“Yeah, Derek stuck them in.”

“Great. The kitchen will implode,” Stiles deadpans, and Scott chews on his bottom lip as he chuckles nervously.

Like he’s afraid. They’re all afraid.

Stiles can’t stand it. _You’re lying down,_ a corner of his brain supplies, but he ignores the nasty voice as he starts to rise.

“What are you doing?” Lydia asks dangerously, and Stiles ignores the dark look on Peter’s face.

“I need to rinse my nose out before I start to turn into a vampire,” Stiles wiggles his fingers in mock horror as he pushes his way towards the kitchen.

There are sounds of shuffling bodies and Stiles can practically _hear_ Peter restraining the others by the sheer force of his gaze. He knows that Peter understands- is probably one of two people that actually do. Stiles has to categorize, shut things into their compartments. He has to reign in his traitorous mind and its horror at the fact that he’s _dying_. Keeping an eye on dinner is just a distraction that he _needs_ to stay sane.

The oven is thankfully set to the right temperature and the foil remains carefully sealed over the lasagna. Stiles knows it won’t come out dry and he can already hear Scott’s hums of appreciation. He smiles a little at the thought.

“How is it?” Derek asks haltingly, and Stiles turns to see the man standing awkwardly by the sink. Stiles raises an eyebrow, pulling salad from the fridge and a bowl out of a cupboard.

“It’ll survive your tender mercies,” Stiles says, and Derek’s gaze sharpens at the evasion.

“Stiles.”

“Derek.”

“How _are_ you?” Derek’s practically growling and Stiles is _so_ done.

“ _Dying,_ ” Stiles hisses, and he’s only a little bit sorry at the way Derek pales, taking a step back into the counter.

There are noises from the living room that Stiles is sure are the pack’s assorted whines and growls. He _knows_ they can hear him. _Fucking werewolves and their stupid fucking superpowers._

“Stiles,” Derek starts, but Stiles is having none of it.

“Stop asking me. _Everyone_ is _always_ asking me- it’s not going to change! I’m not magically going to stop dying just because you asked me how I’m feeling!”

“You’re not dying,” Derek grinds out, and Stiles snorts, ripping at the bag of salad more forcefully than necessary.

“Yeah. Right. And you don’t turn into Remus Lupin every full moon,” Stiles snaps, not even bothering to color his tone with sarcasm or playfulness. He’s too damn tired.

“You don’t know-,”

“ _I fucking know!_ ” Stiles screams, and he doesn’t even know why he’s yelling. He doesn’t remember letting himself lose control. “ _Why_? Even now, even in this time- _god,_ you never _change_ , Derek! I’m _always_ wrong and I _never_ know, do I?”

Stiles shoves the knife he’s holding away before turning on his heel, trying to leave the conversation. The living room is silent but everyone looks up as Stiles enters. He just wants to lie back down and never get up again.

Unfortunately for Stiles, Derek is just as persistent in this time.

“There are things we know- Peter, Deaton, they can _help_ ,” Derek insists, and he seems angry. Stiles shakes his head, running his hands through his overgrown hair.

“Denying this won’t stop it,” Stiles says evenly, and he feels as if he’s talking to _all_ of them now.

“Stiles…we just don’t want you to give up like this,” Scott says tentatively, and Stiles remembers with grim humor that now he’s fighting the _whole_ pack.

“Who says I’m giving up? You think I haven’t tried to fix this?”

Peter rises from his seat and his icy gaze falls on Stiles with chilling resemblance to the homicidal version Stiles knew.

“Reverse the spell. Undo it. You’re _dying_ ,” Peter says, and Allison grips Scott’s hand tighter where she stands.

Stiles watches them cling to each other and he can’t get the image of her death out of his mind. The way Lydia screamed.

“No,” Stiles says quietly, and Derek makes an incredulous sound from where he stands.

“And you say you haven’t given up. Are you _afraid_?”

Derek looks like he _gets_ Stiles, like he’s suddenly found the solution to the problem. He’s triumphant. It’s the last straw and Stiles _snaps_.

“Yes, I’m fucking afraid! Do you know _why_ I came back, Derek? Do _any_ of you?” Stiles feels his chest heaving as he breathes heavily and he sees Lydia open her mouth to speak before Derek interrupts her.

“You were afraid, Stiles. You were running because you were human and you couldn’t help. But you can’t just do that- you can’t just give up,” Derek says calmly, and Stiles has the overwhelming urge to punch the man because he can be so _dense_ sometimes.

How can someone that grew up in a freaking pack _not_ understand the gravity of an emotion like _love_?

“I came back because you were _dying_!” Stiles yells, and if the silence before was deafening now it transcends all boundaries of sound. He can _feel_ the shock emanating from Derek, never mind the pack.

“You were bleeding out on the sand,” Stiles whispers, and he knows how haunted and crazed he looks but he doesn’t care because he needs to make them _understand_. He didn’t _run_ from them. He ran _for_ them. “You were dying, Scott was _going_ to die, Peter was going to _get_ himself killed, everyone- _everyone was dying! Some_ of us were _already dead_.”

“Stiles,” Lydia manages, and he can hear the tears in her voice.

“Stop telling me I’m running,” Stiles says, and he knows his own voice is broken and the tears on his face are there without any warning. “I _know_ I run. I run because that’s my job, that’s what I do- that’s what you _do_ when you’re _pack_.”

“You’re going to run yourself to death,” Laura says softly, and Stiles is shocked to see the tears in her eyes. She’s the strong one, the leader. She doesn’t cry.

“If I run to death then death won’t run to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry it's been such a long time! I've been cast for a play and college and work are kicking my ass. Anyways, here's the next installment and I hope you enjoy it! I had such a hard time broaching Malia's inclusion and Stiles' worsening condition. Overall I felt it was important for the truth to get out there about Stiles' time travel and WHY he used the spell when he wasn't absolutely certain that Scott or Derek would die OR that it would work at all. He's just seen too much death already and he did what he had the capacity to do. The next story will hopefully be up soon; don't forget to review, I love seeing your thoughts!


End file.
